Motherly Love
by Wolly-Dream
Summary: Alfred, now in college, deals with the aftermath of an abusive childhood and the mental illnesses that came with it. According to one of his fellow classmates, his life is still somehow of worth. Arthur doesn't seem willing to believe anything less. (UKUS. Not FACE family.)
1. Chapter 1

Notes:

"Motherly Love" touches on a lot of subjects. It's important to note that everyone experiences mental illnesses differently, so please do not take this fanfiction as a guideline for how everyone with these mental illnesses must behave. Any negative words Alfred says here about himself are internalized stigma.

This was originally posted on my AO3 account so there may be differences since I'm uploading the original file without looking over it. I definitely recommend reading my fanfictions through AO3 as this account is more of a second thought.

* * *

Thursday was objectively Alfred's least favorite day of the week. He'd decided to take one online course this semester and another three in person, the latter he scheduled to be on the same day. It came with some upsides but one major downside: Thursday.

He was still working towards his Associate's degree, so sadly most of Alfred's classes were the basic requirements of every major. Only one of his courses this semester actually pertained to astronomy, and it wasn't even one of the in-person classes he had the _joy_ of attending every week. Instead, his lineup today was French II, English lit, and statistics.

It was hard to bring himself to feel up to doing anything nowadays, but attending classes he didn't like was even harder to force himself to do. His third semester at UEF and he still hadn't gotten the hang of things yet. He hadn't managed to make anything more than acquaintances so far either. The giant and crowded campus felt even more lonely in that sense, and was often what Alfred thought about as he sat next to a wall to eat overpriced food or walked the hallways of Florida's best educational facility it had to offer (that wasn't saying much, but he couldn't argue with the in-state tuition.)

The groan he let out could be heard across the world as Alfred forced his eyes awake at the sound of the alarm on his phone. How much he wanted to tap the snooze button couldn't even be described. Well, maybe it could have been if he was an English major. He hesitated, wiping his weary eyes and questioning his life choices before turning off the alarm. It probably helped that he'd made sure to choose one of his least favorite songs as his wake up call.

The mantra in his head started as soon as he tore away from the blankets and brought his feet to the floor. Left foot first, then right. Make sure to step on this specific area of the carpet. He had stepped on a pencil near it before and almost lost his footing when it rolled under his feet, so he had to make sure he stepped two inches left of that spot every time now. Even though the pencil was no longer there.

Alfred walked the treacherous way to the closet where he rummaged through the trash bags of clean clothes that he kept there. The bags were in an array of sizes, some containing just a shirt and a handful of socks, others filled to the brim with clothes, all miscellaneous. None of the bags were organized. That would just make it harder on him… he may always have to shovel through these trash bags to find what he needs and yes it's more complicated that way in a certain sense, but that wasn't the point. Organizing meant touching. These bags were a plastic barrier to make sure nothing could get to his stuff. You never know what could touch your things and then...well, they would be touched. He ignored thinking about the consequences further because no one ever understood why that was a bad thing. He hadn't managed yet to explain it in a way others could accept.

_What would possibly touch your clothes?_

He didn't know! Bugs! They come out of no where.

_What's so bad about something touching your clothes? It's not going to hurt you._

Yeah, Alfred's mom, well you would sure know a lot about what hurts him, huh?

_Again going on about how bad of a mother I am. I'm sorry I'm not perfect for you. You know I didn't mean it that way when I told you last night we could get easier classes if you need them._

Saying it's possible to get classes "as dumb as dirt" when Alfred was struggling due to _someone's_ emotionally abusive behavior sure is hard to take the right way, it seems.

_Just forget it. I didn't mean what I said._

That's a theme with you.

Alfred shook his head. There was no time to think about his mother when he had to hurry and get ready for his first class that day. His two and a half hour French class would be over by the time he finished debating his mother in his mind, and even within his own imagination she still wouldn't listen to him.

Slept-in t-shirts were perfectly fine to wear the next day. The less steps Alfred had to worry about, the better. It was just fact that the longer his routine, the more arbitrary precautions his brain would make up and force upon him. If he was going to have time to pull on the door handle of his car eight times, he would have to forgo whatever extra fear would come with changing his shirt.

He pulled on a pair of jeans even though it was still dying hot outside. It was 95 degrees (35 for all you Celsius lovers) at the beginning of September because that's Florida for you. The four seasons here were summer, summer that's less hot, hurricane season, and a one to four week winter. It depended on the year how long the cold weather lasted. And yes, the word is "cold" because despite what northerners will try to claim, Florida winters are freezing due to the extreme humidity. Alfred had survived dry winters up north just fine and barely felt a thing, but a wet cold? It seeps through your clothes, cakes your skin, and melts into your body until it chills you to your core. No amount of layers can keep the Florida cold from finding a way through. Trust him on this one.

Finally Alfred was ready to leave the apartment. His jacket was slipped on to keep as many things from touching him as he could; the heat was just a price he had to pay, and the jacket had the added bonus of keeping his body, his stomach, more hidden.

One of Alfred's roommates came out of their room just as Alfred was grabbing for the front door.

"Your long day again?" Francis bit into an apple. Somehow even the sound of his bite had an accent to it.

"Yeah, but I'll be back in time for dinner. We're still on for a French-American cuisine night, right?" Alfred said with his trademark grin. No one would ever guess it had always just been a mask. Turning a frown upside down is much harder than painting on what people hope—want—to see.

"Mais, oui. You know I'm excited to try your…"

"Sloppy joes. And that French charm ain't gonna work on me, Francis." Alfred joked, knowing full well Francis would never have any other reason to say two such common words in his native tongue to a non-French speaker.

"I'm awaiting your joes, even if they're sloppy," Francis laughed, caught red-handed. "I'm going out today to get the ingredients for my part of the meal. 'ave fun learning a beautiful language." Francis waved him off as Alfred opened the door.

"What language are we talking about again?" Alfred smirked before closing the door shut, sighing as he could let down his defenses. He locked the door and rotated the knob, pulling to check it was locked. Letting go was extremely hard since he felt so badly the need to do that another seven times just to make sure it really was locked. An even eight would surely mean the door was closed, but he didn't want to let on to Francis, still in the kitchen and who would hear the repeated knob-turning, that anything was strange. Alfred was a normal guy whose head just happened to have been thoroughly fucked up from the divorce, his mother, and emotional trauma. But other than that, completely normal. Considering how many gay people dealt with things like depression, he probably _was_ the average gay guy.

Francis was the closest thing Alfred had to a friend at the moment, he thought as he walked to his car, but Francis being an international student made it hard for Alfred to fit in to his busy schedule. His other two roommates weren't even options for acquaintances on Alfred's radar.

One was homophobic and somehow even anti-immigrant even though...the guy himself was an immigrant? Well, there's such a thing as internalized racism and homophobia, so maybe it was something similar to that. Thankfully Alfred had never felt ashamed of being gay because internalized homophobia was not something else he needed to deal with in his crammed head. There was no vacancy for any more mental illnesses or...whatever internalized homophobia would be considered, thank you very much. Though that didn't mean he was able to escape his roommate's homophobia, so Alfred's usual decision was just to stay in his room and avoid the guy altogether.

His other roommate had absolutely no respect for those he lived with and would refuse to help clean or take responsibility for things. What made it worse was Alfred constantly having to overhear him flaunt his Christian ways which was the most hypocritical shit. You can't act like a good person if you walk all over the people you live with. If you're going to be religious, actually follow the words you preach. Being a missionary in Canada for a month doesn't mean anything if you yell at your roommates for calmly bringing up that you've left your dishes in the sink for the fourth week in a row.

So yeah, the only person out of the three Alfred felt comfortable around was Francis, who he also felt guilty had to live with the other two. What a way to be introduced to a new country. He knew it wasn't his job to make sure Francis had a good time here but Alfred couldn't help but want to show Francis the best of what America had to offer, even with its problems. It hit home for him for some reason. He loved foreign cultures so it was hard not to take the perception of his own culture personally, which isn't a very healthy or realistic way to view things. (Alfred was very good at recognizing how messed up he was, but managing to stop being messed up was like going from recognizing what a rocket is to building it.)

His hands were on the steering wheel of his car and his foot on the pedals when Alfred's phone started buzzing nonstop in his pocket. He felt his heart bubble up in his chest like his body was an enclosed, dark space suddenly being flooded with water, said heart bobbing up and down in his esophagus crying out to escape. Hearing, feeling, his phone vibrate like that from a call transported him every time back to his eight year-old self when his parents would scream at him over the phone and he would have to take it. At least they weren't screaming at each other. Being a millennial wasn't the only reason why he disliked and avoided phone calls.

Alfred steadied his breathing as he shoved his hand in his pocket to search for the source of the incessant vibrations and read the notification.

Incoming call:

Aaaaaa Mom

He still hadn't changed her name from when he was young enough that his mother insisted he add those unnecessary A's to make her number the first result in his contacts. From when he was too young to know what a parent with an unchecked personality disorder acted like...from when he could still call her "mom" and mean that word.

"Hello?" Alfred asked reluctantly.

"The doctor said I'm allergic." What a greeting.

"To what?" There was obvious annoyance in his voice at being made to guess. Just more of her games.

"To your cats, so they'll be finding a new home by Friday. I've already asked Lisa and she said she'd take them until you can have them."

Alfred was floored. His mind hit the breaks and screeched to a stop as he attempted to contemplate what was going on, what was happening to his only real family.

"You're suddenly allergic? _After all this time?"_ He was struggling to keep it together over the phone.

"It's possible and it happened. The doctor said so." Alfred received a text from her with some sort of picture of her test results that no one but medical professionals would be able to understand the meaning of. That somehow qualified as matter-of-fact proof. "Sorry you can't afford your cats at your apartment."

"They don't even allow pets here! You know that! I'm forced to live close to school and this was all I could afford. I don't see you helping!"

"I was taking care of your cats for you."

Was. And now she couldn't even do that. She couldn't do anything. Why should she when not being a mother requires zero work? Also gotta love the "your" cats. Apparently _Alfred_ had been the one to sign the paperwork when they got them. That's definitely a thing 13 year-olds are allowed to do.

"So you're forcing the cats out of the only home they've ever known to live in Lisa's neglected and littered house where she won't even care about them?" _Where she won't love them like Alfred does?_

"She's been cleaning up her house. It's not as bad as when you saw it last. If you're worried about them getting fleas then we'll just put some flea medicine on them." She was already wiping her hands of the cats and walking away. Alfred knew for a fact that she didn't mind this excuse to get rid of the last remnant of Alfred in her life, while somehow still finding a way to blame him for not being around. Every day the desire to go the full Mattie route and kick her out of his life entirely became harder and harder to overcome.

"I'm still in college and won't be able to have the cats for a long time! My lease isn't up for a year and I can barely afford to pay for myself as it is. How can you expect me to take care of two other living beings while I'm in the middle of all of this?" There wasn't even anyone else he could think of to take the cats until he could.

"You'll figure it out. Lisa's perfectly fine with this. She'll take good care of them."

Alfred could hear no comprehension in his mother's voice of what this meant to him. This was all nothing to her. The cats were nothing to her. Alfred was nothing to her, but she'd be damned if she didn't still dangle him by a string that she delighted in controlling.

This, just like all of the other conversations Alfred had had with his mother since 9th grade, was something he could never get through into her head. It was always a losing battle because no matter what her prize-winning lack of empathy was the trait of hers that showed above the rest. She was incapable of understanding reality. Alfred knew this, god damn he fucking knew this by now after years and years of her treatment, but that didn't stop him from wishing so much that he could get through her head and the personality disorder she would never understand she had. If he could just...make her understand...make her stop treating him this way. Why couldn't she stop treating him this way? _Why couldn't he have a mom? _

Fuck, now he was crying into the steering wheel. Of course.

"So your dog is fine?" Alfred asked, the emotional distress on his face hidden through the phone line.

"I'm not allergic to him, no."

Well wasn't that just great for her? Her dog, her boyfriend, her house, her appearance, her facade, she wasn't allergic to any of the things she _actually_ cared about. How convenient!

"I have class. I can't and don't want to talk about this right now." The sound of his breathing was starting to become more sporadic and he didn't want to give her the satisfaction of hearing him cry.

"Have a good day of studying. I'm sure you'll do great." Not a single ounce of empathy. Not a single drop. Her words were as dry and barren as her heart.

"Bye."

Alfred didn't even have the chance to end the call before she hung up first. She cared so little about what she was doing to him and his family. He took a moment in the middle of his tears to look with resentment at her name in his contacts. Twenty years she had beaten him down mentally, emotionally until he could barely even function. Five seconds was what it took for him to delete her from his contacts.

Already late for his class, Alfred thought as he drove about the single letter difference between mère and merde in French. It made him almost laugh through his crying that France had known the truth about motherly love for millennia. Maybe Francis really was right about French being a beautiful language.

* * *

Translations:

Mais, oui - But, yes

Mère - Mother

Merde - Shit


	2. Chapter 2

Notes:

Content Warning: Suicide mention/plan

Please do not read the first half of this chapter if that will negatively affect your traumas or mental illnesses!

* * *

By the time Alfred had managed to calm himself enough to get out of his car, it was ten minutes past eleven. He was late. He was running. He wasn't okay. Little attention was paid to him thankfully as he bolted towards Jefferson Hall. Students were used to seeing others running to make it to classes on time. Depending on the professor, absences and late showings could make or break you. You have never seen a stricter absence policy until you take the plunge into $40,000 of debt and a diet based on 34 cent, overly-salted ramen.

Alfred tried to catch his breath outside the door to his class. Looking through the window he could see Dr. Wenald at the front of the room passing out test papers. Unlike the other French professors at UEF, Wenald wasn't actually French. He had grown up in Arizona and moved to Quebec where he lived for a while. His French was very Canadian-influenced, but the university considered him good enough for the $15,000 yearly tuition.

Despite how little Alfred wanted to open the door and face the curious stares of students who felt the need to watch _every single person_ who entered the room, he knew he had to. This test was important. Alfred needed it to raise his grade to a B and keep his scholarship. He had forced himself to study for this test and now knew way too much about the French verb retrouver (Ehem, "to find.")

The sound of the door creaking open caused the usual stares as Alfred walked into the classroom, head down and eyes searching for his seat. Before he could pull out the chair, Dr. Wenald stopped him.

"You're late." Wenald gave him a stern look. That now made all eyes on Alfred, that bubbling feeling in his throat coming back at the undesired attention.

"I had an emergency on the way to class." Alfred said as he tried to focus on getting seated in his chair rather than on the eyes watching him.

"You didn't email me about an emergency. You know the attendance policy for this class. If you're late without notice, you're not allowed to attend that day's lesson and disturb the rest of the students with your interruption, emergency or not."

"I…I thought the first ten minutes of class were allowed to be missed?" That's what Wenald had said last week!

"That was a single instance due to the crash on 54th Avenue last Thursday morning. It was only reasonable to do as the traffic was unavoidable getting onto the campus. That policy did not extend to today. You're dismissed." Wenald's expression was cold.

"But the test! I have to take-"

"You are dismissed, Mr. Jones." Wenald left no room for argument.

"But you don't do makeup exams!" Alfred was desperate. He needed this grade! He couldn't miss this test!

"Goodbye, Mr. Jones."

Alfred stared in shock at Wenald for a moment longer before grabbing his bag and facing the humiliation of being forced out of class in front of everyone. He stumbled a bit as he maneuvered through the narrow rows of desks and out the door.

"Alfred," Wenald called out to him.

Alfred turned back to the door still ajar.

"Make sure that door closes properly. It tends to jam."

The next two hours were pointless. He was going to lose his scholarship. He had no mother, no family really at all. His cats were going to be abandoned to a family friend. He was fucked up from mental illnesses. He didn't even _want_ to live. Why was he still struggling to keep going at this point? He wanted none of it!

His entire life he had heard "It's going to get better!"

Yeah, it was supposed to get better when he got his first car. Finally he would have some agency to get away from his family situation and not have to rely on his mother as much.

It was supposed to get better when he got his first job. He would be making some money that he could save for fun things and any of the stuff he couldn't depend on his mother for.

Next it was when he finished high school. At that point college would be right around the corner which meant less mom, no more depressing high school life, and his goal of becoming independent would be closer than ever.

Then it was supposed to get better when he started living on his own. Completely away from family, he could be free.

But you know what? NONE of that fucking made anything better! It _never_ got better and it's been over ten fucking years since the divorce! Will it finally get better when he's 60? Maybe 75? Yeah, that's definitely worth it! Let's continue to fucking suffer to the point of feeling like being killed by a burglar would be mercy and then by 72 he would have _one_ good day.

Well you know what? _Fuck this._ He was done. He had been struggling and fighting for over a decade and he was fed up with the emotional abuse, with a society that wanted him dead for being gay and disabled, with his absent brother, with his long-gone father. Alfred had no desire to continue seeing his story to the end. It was over.

Back in his car, Alfred drove to the nearest parking garage. His car climbed up the winding ramp to the top level where he parked it.

What should he do with his keys? Maybe leave them on him for the police to give his mother. She could sell the car.

He was sad that he hadn't written any letters. All those times he came so close to writing up some final words to the few friends he had made in his childhood and he always had snapped himself out of it before going through with his desires. But who really gave a shit about him, right? It didn't matter, honestly. Why was he even thinking that he mattered? It almost made him laugh.

Alfred stepped out of his car. He had contemplated a few times before about the best method. This had never been one of his ideas, but he didn't really have any other quick fixes at the moment. The pain always had been something he feared whenever he anticipated a day like this in his future, but he was so far gone now that not even that could deter him anymore.

No, he'd had enough. That's what he was thinking when he walked to the ledge of the five-story parking garage.

Alfred looked out at the street. It wasn't even noon yet. All the times he had imagined this day, he'd thought of it with more planning, more purpose. It would have to be sometime between these months so it wouldn't be near someone's birthday or a holiday. He would need to do it with the most painless thing possible. The letters would be written or printed out next to him so they would be easy to find.

Well, better something than nothing. Or, maybe in this case, he was actually seeking out that "nothing" instead.

His foot was now propped up on the ledge. There was no one around to tell him to be careful or see the deed about to be done. That was probably for the best. He couldn't imagine being able to live easily after witnessing someone commit such a thing, especially if he had been around to somehow prevent it but didn't. No one deserved that life-long guilt.

Alfred hoisted himself onto the ledge completely, both feet now on the low cement wall lining the roof of the parking garage. He slowly let go of his grasp on the wall in order to stand. He was just a few seconds from true freedom when-

"Be careful! You might fall like that."

Alfred startled, having thought he was alone. He turned around and saw a man about his age with shaggy blonde hair and eyebrows so bushy that they took up the most noticeable amount of room on his face.

"I...I was looking for my glasses. I think they fell," Alfred nervously replied. He stepped back onto the roof of the parking garage—his heart still beating, his chest still breathing.

The man gave him a smile, one that was both cautious and reassuring. "I think they might be on your head." Alfred could hear an accent now that he was focusing on him.

"R-Right." He adjusted his glasses as if to confirm they were there. "I wasn't paying attention. Sorry."

There was some silence, Alfred afraid at having possibly been caught, the other Alfred had no idea what he was thinking. The possibility that the man could report this and have Alfred forcibly hospitalized, locked in the hospital-equivalent of a prison with his rights taken away, made Alfred consider still going through with what he had been about to put into motion even if there was an audience now. He couldn't go to such a place...he couldn't be traumatized again. His lungs were spasming as the anxiety began to flood him.

"...I'm actually in your English class with you," the man offered in conversation. "I'm studying abroad, originally from Oxford. Nice to meet you…?"

He considered for a moment giving a fake name before replying, "Alfred."

"Alfred. Yes, I remember now. My name is Arthur," the young Englishman said.

There was more silence, and then…

"I was actually about to head towards our next class. It's a touch early but there's the bookstore nearby. They sell some adequate tea, and I haven't tried it but their coffee is a popular option as well. Would you like to come with me?"

Alfred wasn't sure why he was offering when he knew nothing about Alfred. They hadn't even talked before. He wished Arthur would let him go back to what he had been so close to doing. The longer Alfred spent thinking, the harder it was for him to get back into that previous mindset.

"I was...in the middle of something."

"They have some delicious pastries," Arthur piped up. "And I hadn't been giving the tea enough credit. It's actually fairly nice. Just add a bit of sugar and it's perfect to help keep you awake during your afternoon modules!" he insisted.

Alfred didn't know how to answer. He couldn't think of an excuse and he also couldn't allow Arthur to witness the act he had been about to commence. He frowned a little, looking back over the ledge one last time before resigning. "I can spend a few minutes getting coffee."

"Perfect! I'm certain you'll be chuffed with the quality." Arthur seemed about to step closer before hesitating, as if Alfred was a scared animal that would run if gotten too close to. He instead let Alfred slowly walk over to him.

"Thank you for coming with me. I would have been drinking tea by myself." Arthur gave another reassuring smile. "How about I treat you for this first outing?" The two began walking towards the stairs. Alfred guessed that was one way to descend to the first floor.

"That's alright. I don't want to make you pay for me. I don't deserve that, and your money should go towards the things you want to do here before going back to England." Paying for Alfred would be a waste. Honestly, it was a waste to treat Alfred on any day, not just this day. He wasn't worth that kindness.

"It's funny you say that since one of the things I'd like to do in America before going back home is having tea with a friend." His expression was of that same kindness Alfred knew he didn't deserve. He would be lying to himself if he dared to accept it.

"It's really okay, I can pay for it. I don't need this money," Alfred said, referring to the entirety of his bank account.

Arthur didn't say anything until they got to the bookstore nearby. Inside was one of the handful of cafes on UEF's campus. It was just as overpriced as the others, in case anyone was wondering.

Usually Alfred would go for the cheapest option. He had learned from a young age that money was in scarce supply, reinforced by how his mother only showed her love financially. A roof over his head was her one version of affection. You could plead with her all you wanted for emotional support and she wouldn't give it to you. And if you thought showing love through money was good enough, tell that to Alfred who rarely saw that so-called 'affection,' whose father was the one who provided most of his financial needs in the first place.

Since this was probably going to be his last ever purchase anyways, he might as well splurge on it, right?

"What do you think you'll get?" Arthur asked him, picking out a helping of earl grey tea for himself.

Alfred hummed as he looked at the options before choosing the sweetest, most sugary frappuccino on the menu. "I've never gotten one of these before. I think I'd like to try it."

His eyes lit up as it was handed to him over the counter. He thanked the person who made it for him, wondering if they would later realize that they were one of the last to see Alfred before he was gone. It brought a sad tint to the colorful sprinkles decorating the top of the whipped cream.

Alfred turned to face the cash register in order to pay when Arthur handed him a pastry.

"Don't worry, love. I covered it." Arthur directed Alfred towards a small table near a corner of the room that had more privacy and would be quieter, calming.

"Wait! But- I-!" Alfred stammered, pulling out his Captain America wallet. He ignored the longing in his heart that he felt at hearing that nickname, at being called something so rare for him to find. "I have to pay for that! I'm so sorry. I-I hadn't known, I...I bought something so expensive." He looked guiltily at the cup in his hands. It had cost a whole five dollars. How could he have let Arthur pay for this?

"No, I insist. It wasn't much trouble at all. In fact, I tricked you into believing you were paying for it so you would get what you truly wanted. You have no reason to feel guilty." He placed his own cup on the table and pulled out a chair for Alfred.

All of this kindness was new. Why would someone want to do such a nice thing for him? And not even get anything in return? That wasn't what Alfred had been taught of others.

Alfred ignored the compulsive thoughts pestering him as he sat down in the chair, wanting to dust it off or inspect it for dirt before sitting but feeling too worried at how he would be perceived if he did so. He tried to keep himself from thinking about it too much, though it was a constant thought in the back of his mind throughout the rest of their conversation.

"I guess you do know me a little well. There was no way I would have let you buy this for me if you hadn't done it by force," Alfred admitted with an apologetic smile. The smile had a hint of fear, which he wondered if Arthur would somehow manage to notice.

Arthur chuckled. "You can be stubborn sometimes, like when the professor marks your paper wrong and you believe it's right. I can usually get a few minutes in to rest my eyes when you and Dr. Harper have a row in the middle of class."

"Y-Yeah, that might be true…" Alfred sipped his drink. His face seemed to fill with delight at the taste, such a different expression from the somber one he had worn on top of the parking garage. "This is delicious! I've never had something so good!"

"Maybe I'll have to try that myself the next time I come in here," Arthur seemed glad to hear Alfred so giddy.

"No, wait, you've gotta try it! Besides, you paid for it so how could I not let you have some?" Alfred got up and found the cup of straws on one of the counters, carefully picking out what looked like the cleanest one despite all of them being wrapped in that paper covering. He handed the winning straw to Arthur as he sat back down, forcing himself again not to wince at the state of the chair. "You'll love it!"

Arthur was surprised for Alfred to insist but didn't argue. He placed the straw in the drink and took a sip as well. It was a little sweeter than his usual preference but it did taste good. "You were right," Arthur agreed.

"Can you guess what flavor it is?"

"Mm…" Arthur tried it again, mulling over the possibilities. "Is it...white chocolate?"

"Yeah! And?"

"...Strawberry," Arthur stated as if it were fact after making up his mind.

"Wow, you got that easily." Alfred took back the drink and sipped from it again. It took him a moment to realize he had accidentally used the wrong straw.

"Oh-" Alfred blushed a bit in embarrassment and took out the straw he had given Arthur. "Whoops." He was more embarrassed at having shared Arthur's straw than anxious at what that meant to his disorder.

Arthur blushed a little himself, never having noticed how endearing Alfred's bashful expression looked, and at having shared what was basically a milkshake with him no less. It was like he was in some American teen movie. Maybe those movie tropes really were every day life here.

Alfred realized then in the middle of his blushing that he had somehow stopped thinking about those feelings from the top of the parking garage. He didn't know how Arthur had managed to make that happen. It did...feel nice to not think about it though.

"I haven't been able to relax like this with someone in a while," Alfred admitted. "Thanks for helping me do that."

Arthur inwardly sighed in relief, his own muscles relaxing. "I'm glad to hear it. Can we set another day to meet up again?" A promise to keep for the sake of someone else since Alfred no longer viewed himself as worth anything.

"Another day? You want to hang out with me again?" Alfred was skeptical.

"Of course! You're fun to be around, Alfred. We can help each other with the assignments for our class, and I do need someone to keep me company for my afternoon tea."

Alfred pushed down the thought yelling at him that the only thing Arthur really wanted was help with the assignments. It wasn't true, he knew that despite how much his anxiety wanted him to believe otherwise. Well, maybe it could be true. There was a possibility but...it probably wasn't. It was his anxiety—only his anxiety.

"Okay. Should we hang out next week before class?"

"That sounds like a good time. How about I give you my Facebook so we can contact each other? I'd give you my number but it doesn't work while abroad."

_His number._ Alfred thought about what that could have meant in another context. He wasn't sure why he was thinking about that though. He had just met Arthur and sure the guy was nice and...had a cute smile, he supposed...but, really, there was no reason for Alfred to be thinking about this! Why was he? Was Arthur's kindness getting to him?

"Sure. Here, you can add me. It's Alfred F. Jones. I only have friends on there, don't like to share my accounts with family." He didn't mention the reason…

Arthur typed Alfred's name into the app and showed him his screen. "This one?" he asked, pointing to the first result. It was a picture of a guy in a Captain America cosplay.

Alfred blushed again, having forgotten about that. "Uh, yeah. That's me. Don't pay attention to the picture."

Arthur only grinned in amusement, finding the picture cute, but didn't say anything to save Alfred from the embarrassment the other was feeling. "I like the picture." Okay, well, maybe he had to say _one_ thing. It really was such a cute photo.

"I like to make costumes of certain characters. Though I can't sew. I can only make the props," Alfred explained.

"I actually know how to sew," Arthur commented.

Alfred's eyebrows raised in surprise. "Really? Maybe we would make a good team then. You sew and I do the crafts. Maybe you'd even enjoy trying out a convention here with me? Or we could make costumes for October so you can experience a true American Halloween before going back." Alfred wasn't even thinking about how longterm these ideas were, that he was actually thinking about the future.

"I'd love to! I'm certain there's at least one show we both enjoy that would be fun to dress as together. We'll have to start thinking of that. I'll send you some ideas after class?" Arthur offered.

"Yeah! Send them to me. I love cartoons, comics, anime, a lot of artistic stuff. Although my heart belongs to astronomy, the arts aren't a bad area either."

"Astronomy, hm? Is that your major?" The two had finished their drinks and were throwing away the cups.

"Yeah, no current minor though."

"That's a nice major to choose. Mine is English literature. I've always been better at writing than the sciences. Don't even get me started on the grades I received on my maths assignments. They were...a little below what I would have liked."

It was Alfred who chuckled this time. "Well, if you ever need help with science-y stuff, I'm your guy. I can take a crack at any math questions you have too."

"That's a little too late. Where were you when I was doing my A-levels?"

"A-levels?"

"Don't ask." Arthur shook his head, looking back on his educational journey that wasn't as perfect as he would have liked it to be.

"Okay. Though if we're talking about education systems, don't get me started on the ones here either." The two left the cafe, heading for the building next door where their class would be held.

They walked silently, this time appreciating the silence, however.

"...Hey. Thanks for inviting me with you. I didn't realize how much I needed it." Alfred broke the silence as they got to the door of their class. "I was having...a bad day." To put it lightly, at least.

"I'm glad I could help, and you helped me too. It's not easy making friends as an international student."

Alfred guessed they really were friends...he'd actually been able to make one finally. Wow.

"It's hard for you to make friends with _that_ accent?" Alfred asked incredulously.

Arthur smirked. "You like my accent?"

"Oh, wait, that's not…" Alfred's cheeks turned a shade of pink for what felt like the millionth time that day. "I-I take that back. Forget I said that."

Arthur was snickering, enjoying the reaction he had received. "No, don't stop. I would love to hear about it. I expect a full page report on why you like my accent by tonight. You don't have an excuse either since you have my contact information. Can't wait to hear it, love." Arthur played up his accent a little at the end there.

Alfred was blushing profusely now at having been accidentally found out. "Y-You're not getting anything like that from me. I'm not gonna hear you be smug about it."

"Won't you? Alright, then. We'll see if you can keep from thinking about my accent." Arthur was maybe enjoying this a little too much. That pink hue on Alfred's cheeks looked good on him. He wanted to keep it there, along with that smile now beaming on Alfred's face.

"You better not challenge me. I will run head-on into any challenge you give. Don't test it," he laughed.

"I'll keep that in mind." They were both grinning as they walked into the classroom. Arthur took an empty seat next to Alfred's usual spot today. "Easier to see the board," Arthur explained.

"Right," Alfred responded from their table near the back of the room. "I do find the back row much easier to see from than the second."

"Oh, shove it," Arthur mock-pushed him. "Though it might be harder to take advantage of your stubborn arguments with the professor this way. Can't have her see me falling asleep."

"Isn't this _your_ major? I'm the one watching the clock in this class!"

"It's not as enjoyable listening to someone when they don't have an accent as attractive as my own, as you'd likely agree," he teased.

"Yeah, you're not getting that essay."


End file.
